


Sixième

by legbeforewatson



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Cricket World Cup 2015, M/M, What have yous, gloating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legbeforewatson/pseuds/legbeforewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken messages and phonecalls to our resident grumpmeister on the evening Australia massacred New Zealand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixième

**Author's Note:**

> Quick spontaneous drabble/ficlet. Written sloppily after a couple of glasses of cheap merlot - warning: it's probably as incoherent as Clarke.

The message was short, sloppy, and to be quite honest - incomprehensible. _roomm 431 or stng yeh just come rite?_ flashed before his eyes, taking Jimmy more than just a gloss over for the penny to drop. He tried not to dignify the crude text with a response - especially not in the middle of a pleasant family lunch - but pride took hold of him and a petty _what a quick flight to manchester_ was on its way before he could stop himself. 

Jimmy busied himself with his girls, trying hard not to glance at his phone every now and then - curious for a reply. It came when he least expected it, a forkful of roast lamb halfway past his lips. He finished his bite then, a sigh, _back to this gloating tit_. 

_ha i forgot_ was enough to make Jimmy frown more than his usual to go expression. _Twat_. This time he’ll hold back, putting his phone aside once more when the missus’ disapproving glance met his eyes. 

Nothing came until the end of lunch - not until Jimmy was loading the dishwasher and the ringtone indicated a call instead. Maybe he considered ignoring it but he knew that was a lie as he brought the phone to his ear, ‘Yeah?’ 

‘Mate… mate,’ he sounded more Australian when he’s drunk, he remembered this, ‘We won, mate.’ 

Jimmy took a deep breath. No matter how abysmal they were in the World Cup and thoroughly deserved the premature exit, it still hurt to know that for them, everything and nothing was happening at the same time. Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, he solemnly replied, ‘I figured.' 

‘If you — fuck off, Mitch —‘ there was a brief scuffle on the other side of the line before his voice becomes clear once again, ‘ — weren’t so shit, you might just be — celebrating too.’ 

‘Which would mean you _didn’t_ win,’ Jimmy drawls, attempting nonchalance. 

A brief silence on the other side before a chuckle followed suit, ‘I didn’t say you’d be celebrating your win.’ 

Jimmy rolled his eyes, closing the dishwasher door with his knee, quickly washing his hands and wipes them on his jeans, ’Find someone else.’ 

‘No one with that hoover mouth of yours,’ Clarke opens up for a rain of champagne down his throat, a gleeful David on the other end of the bottle. 

Another eye roll as Jimmy took the call to the sun room, taking a seat on the nearest chaise, ‘Why you still insist on this Lancashire League post-match Sunday bollocks is beyond me.’ 

‘Well, you still play like you’re in one,’ Michael scoffed. 

Jimmy had to admit - that was a mint comeback. ’So now that you can’t fuck me, you’ve decide to fuck with me.’ 

Clarke was elsewhere on the other line, two teammates had come over to dump cheap beer on his head, before both leaned over to give a sloppy kiss on each side of his cheek, only to drunkenly stumble to catch the corners of his mouth. 

Jimmy could hear — no, feel — the euphoria and only at this moment did he genuinely realised how distant success was for them. Jealousy seeped in, laced with disappointment — that they did _fuck all_ , absolutely _nought_ , that he wasn’t there to congratulate him, to get fucked silly, or that Michael will most likely end up in some loser’s bed. 

He had completely disappeared, his mobile sounded like it had ended up on the floor - catching echoes of foot stomps and ecstatic chanting. ‘Mich —‘ Jimmy stopped himself and hung up instead, heaving a long breath after. No one else in the world could make him feel both depressed and aroused at the same time. 

Only more than hours later, when evening rolled and Jimmy was in the showers did his phone come back to life, vibrating on top of the sink counter before revealing: _wish you were here_.


End file.
